


I, Spardaclaus

by JoAsakura



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-01
Updated: 2004-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-03 04:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoAsakura/pseuds/JoAsakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>December 2003 began. Finished, October 2004 due to circumstances far beyond my control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I, Spardaclaus

It was right before Christmas, and the old brownstone that housed both the offices of Devil May Cry and the residence of it's owners had taken on a festive air.

One might think that the two young men, who were biological proof of the existence of the Devil, or more precisely, devil(s), would not be all that inclined to celebrate a seasonal holiday popularized in recent times by The Other Side.

But, Dante especially loved Christmas. He hadn't for some time, but he had Vergil back now, and that meant the holiday season was allowed back in his heart. He loved the lights, and the presents, and the tree, and the mistletoe. Especially the mistletoe. Mistletoe meant even more opportunities for mad schnoogles from his twin, and therefore he put it in all the convenient places he could think of, up to and including the piece he attempted to attach to his underpants.

The brothers had settled into a comfortable division of labor for the holiday season. Dante, who had proven to be an excellent cook, was in charge of eggnog, gingerbread, and a fruit cake so heavily laden with alcohol that the very air molecules surrounding it were flammable. A cake so saturated with liquor that it was banned in Utah and other repressive countries.

Vergil, on the other hand, was in charge of decorations. He had long since determined that his beloved twin had all the decorating taste of a crack-crazed King's Cross hooker with a Las Vegas showgirl psychosis. Vergil made certain that the house was well within tasteful holiday limits (although he did make certain leeway for the decking of demon skulls with tinsel) and that all potentially heat-producing items were kept far away from the fruit cake.

And now, on the night before christmas, presents were wrapped and set under the tree (including some dubious gifts from Enzo and what Vergil could only determine were a fresh crop of listening devices planted by the FBI), the fire crackled warmly in the fireplace, and Vergil was busy licking a trail of eggnog drizzled from Dante's navel, around his straining erection, and back between his thighs. Crumbs of the fruit cake were scattered around them, and somewhere in the back of his brain, Vergil knew he was going to be unhappy with the housework come Christmas day.

At the moment, though, sodden with rum and Dante, it didn't seem to matter. The two of them were wholly involved in carnal possibilities of eggnog when a sudden shuffling sound in the chimney tripped finely honed instincts, and the devil hunters went from a tangled, sticky mess to a tangled sticky mess with guns and a sword.

Dante thumbed the hammer on Ivory as Yamato crackled irritably in Vergil's hand. Neither dared breathe as the shuffling became a thump, and the thump became a huge floof of fire and ash belching out from the fireplace and causing the remnants of the fruit cake to explode spectacularly.

When the smoke cleared, a very little man with bright green hair and a bright green beard, wearing spangly green and red and gold garments and pointy-toed shoes (each curling toe capped with a tinkling golden bell) was busy dusting himself off in the middle of their living room.

Two pairs of startled half-devil eyes blinked and frowning, Dante turned to look at his twin (Ivory still trained with a surprisingly steady hand at the newcomer). "Vergil. Is it the fruitcake talkin', or is there a tiny little drag queen in our living room?"

Vergil was about to answer when the little man marched over to him and leaned in close, breath stinking of peppermint schnapps. "You say dat drag queen thing again, pretty boy, I'm gonna give ya taste'a da North Pole, if you get whad I'm talkin' about. This here candy cane ain't all fer show, ya know?" He thrust his spangly hips in Dante's direction and snorted.

Suddenly affronted, the younger devil hunter blindly grabbed the throw off the couch and draped it over himself.

"I'm supposing it's an elf, little brother." Vergil commented, horrified, trying to remember through the haze of rum, brandy, and interrupted sex if he knew any de-elfing spells off the top of his head.

"What tipped ya off, Einstein? Da pointy ears? Da fuckin' fairy shoes wit da bells on 'em?" The elf flipped them off. "Jeebus. Two a' youse got alla de looks, but nonna da brains."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dante was about two heartbeats away from shifting into "shoot first, shoot later, and screw the questions" mode.

"Yer dad, the great Sparda? What? The two a' youse tink you fell outta a demonic cabbage patch? Yer old man, he helped us out in Elfland a whiles back, saved Xmas an' all dat. An he said his family always be dere to help out da Fat Man, if ya know what I'm talkin' about." The elf waved his hand dramatically as he talked and Vergil found himself wondering if their father's capacity to indenture his offspring knew no bounds.

"So, we gots ourselfs a situation, you might say. Seems da Fat Man's been abseconded wit by some hairy green demonological type, and we needs you two schlubs ta go get 'im back and save the holiday fer alla d'good boys and girls." The elf looked them over once with a skin-crawlingly perverted expression. "An' not fer nothin', but I'm guessin' da two a youse need some boostin' offa da naughty list."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dante was not happy. Anything that interrupted quality time with Vergil was immediately high on the list of Things Dante Hated. Anything on that list that had a leering dwarf commenting on his lack of body fat while he dressed immediately jumped to the top of that list.

"I'm an elf, dickwad." The elf said, watching as Dante buckled on his guns. "Dwarfs don't got da legs t'handle gold sequins, grubby cave dwellin' throwbacks. Y'know, coupla extra pizzas a day, we could round out dat six pack somethin' sexy." He made hand motions in Dante's direction usually reserved for the sign language depiction of "huge boobies".

"Look, ...elf.. do you have a name?" Vergil, dressed already in his somber hunting clothes, inserted himself between the elf and Dante, moments before his twin could get off a punch.

"Oh, yeah, where's my manners? Agnetha. Put 'er there, skinnybritches." The elf spit on his hand and held it up to Vergil who looked down distastefully.

"Agnetha? Like in ABBA??" Dante made a strangled noise behind Vergil that was either repressed laughter, or he'd zipped the "little devil" up in his leather pants.

"Ya know, punk. If you weren't Sparda's kid, I'd kick yer ass right now. You ladies done primpin' yet? It's xmas eve and we gots work to do." The elf's tapping foot was punctuated by a cheerful jingle.

"That reminds me." Vergil folded his arms, peering over dark glasses at the elf. "exactly how does all of this work? I mean, scientifically speaking, delivering all those toys in one night.."

"Not to mention all the shoppers." Dante added with a rasp of the zipper.

"Da fat man works onna concept a' hypertime. See, back at HQ, one second of "outside time" is an hour a' our time. Add t'dat da quantum reindeer an udder top secret infomation.. we do ok. I'd hafta killya if I toldja everythin', ya know? Da fat man likes his secrets." The elf winked disturbingly and Dante shuddered, stepping further back behind his twin. "Still, we're runnin' outta time to get things goin'. Now, you girls folla me."

Dante looked at his brother with the implicit expression of "I'll cap the little fucker now, and you get garbage disposal running", which Vergil met with the totally expected response of "father promised". Dante sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets, dejectedly following his older twin.

In the living room, the elf was climbing back up the chimney. The twins looked at each other and started to head out the front door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a sleigh on the roof of the brownstone. A big, gleaming red monstrosity with chrome fins and huffing reindeer. A gigantic sleigh that was completely unnoticed by the neighbors going about their last minute Christmas tasks.

"We're sure this isn't the fruitcake, right?" Dante asked. On the way out, he'd stuck a piece of the backup fruit cake in a Ziploc. His buzz was wearing off and if this all was in fact real, this was one mission he didn't think he could handle without chemical assistance. "I mean. It's a fruitcake. But not THE fruitcake."

"I HEARD DAT!" The elf on the roof shook a glittery fist at them. "Now get yer pansy devil asses up here. Couldn't take da chimney like normal folks." The neighbors passed by, one woman walking her little dog giving the brothers a "hello". They looked at each other and shrugged. On the off chance it was a hallucination, at least it was shared.

From a purely mechanical standpoint, Dante had to admit the sleigh was pretty impressive. "quadruple overhead cams? 4800 cylinders? What does thing run on?" They were currently over the Maritimes, and Dante had been hanging over the edge the entire time while Vergil rubbed his forehead from the oncoming hangover.

"Reindeer shit, now siddown and shaddup." the elf took a puff on a cigar and whipped out a microphone. "Da captain has turned on da no smokin' signs and fasten yer seatbelts, girls. It's gonna be a bumpy approach."

In the distance, candy coloured auroras danced on the horizon, and Vergil found himself with a rising, almost childlike wonder. But instead the sleigh took a sharp turn and headed down to a landing strip festooned with Christmas tree lights.

"Ok. I'll bite, Dancing Queen. Where's the workshop? Where's the giant candy canes? Where's Rudolph?" Dante sat back, peevish, on the turquoise vinyl seats. Vergil looked over the edge and shrugged. "Point. If we're going to..er.. Santa's…"

"Oh. Er. We're not. See, da situation we gots involves da certain fact dat we've.. Ah.. Kinda lost our.. Whaddyacallit.. Foothold in da workshop."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

The sleigh dropped out of the sky much in the manner a chunk of meteor would, hurtling towards a much too rapidly advancing landing strip made of Christmas lights and staffed by elves waving flashlights topped by light-up snowmen. The rising g-forces plastered the devil hunters to the quilted vinyl seats and Dante suddenly found himself thinking of some old bugs bunny cartoon with an airplane sabotaged by a gremlin and a great deal of screaming.

Without warning, the sleigh came to a dime-stop on the runway and Dante realized his eyes had been jammed shut for the last several seconds. It actually hurt to reopen them. Next to him, his older twin was having a similar reaction.

"For future reference, I might recommend seatbelts." Vergil commented dryly, attempting to relax the deathgrip he had on the armrest.

The elf - Agnetha - hopped off the front of the sleigh with a jingle and made a broad gesture. "Welcome, girls t'da North Arctic Pole Purge Insurrection Encampment!" He put his hands on his spangled hips and laughed as he pointed towards a candy-striped door in a snow bank.

Vergil took a moment, turning the name over in his mind. "NAPPIE? Your organization is called 'NAPPIE'?" Behind him Dante made that strange, strangled sound again.

The elf looked at him "Yeah? So what? We figgered it'd either be dat or 'Santa's Underground Crusading Knights Warrin' Against Demons'. Which, might I add, was my personal favorite - but I got outvoted. Dat's democratication fer ya." The strangled sound sound behind Vergil snapped into momentary hysterical laughter and then into frenzied wheezing as Dante tried to bring himself into some semblance of badass devil-hunterness.

Behind the bright-colored doorway was an underground bunker made up mostly of legos and a giant sized GI-Joe Radar Tower playset (kung-fu grip not included). "Dis here's our never center, you might wanna call it, and here's our head brainiac, Yo, BJORN!" He waved to a skinny, ratfaced elf looking at what appeared to be an etch-a-sketch. "I gots da Sparda brats!"

Bjorn looked at them with watery eyes over the rims of his wire glasses, their bland appearance at odds with his glittering costume. "Oh, my. Shame we had to resort to such naughty boys for help. And so skinny." He clucked, tucking the etch-a sketch under his arm and walking over with a tinkling stride.

"Now, listen…er.. Bjorn… I rather resent being called naughty. After all, we do provide a positive service.." Vergil started, drawing himself up with offended backbone, but Agnetha interrupted.

"You gotta make sure da fat man adds "eggnog fornication" in da Sparda file." The elf made the international hand gesture for "wanking" and Bjorn clucked again. Vergil scowled mightily, folding his arms as Dante cleared his throat. Once his twin got into a behaviour snit, it would be a while before he came back down.

"Ok. So. ..uh, Bjorn, right? Like, what's our situation with… uhm. Santa. Y'know?" Dante rocked on his heels, sticking his thumbs in his belt loops.

"Santa's been taken by the demon to his fortress to the south. Meanwhile, his malevolent army has taken control of the workshop. Whu are notoriously naughty."

"Who's in the workshop…?" One white eyebrow inched up Dante's forehead.

"Dat's right." Agnetha took a puff of his stogie.

"No. I mean, who's in the workshop?" Dante frowned, scratching back his hair.

"Dat's right. Whu's in the workshop." The elf looked annoyed.

Vergil put up an irritated hand. "Just.. Stop. Now. The….who… are the demon's army?"

"Right. The Whu are a dangerous group. They use a form of hypnotic music to confuse and destroy their enemies." Bjorn held up the etch-a-sketch, which had a picture of a poodle on it.

"I LOVE PETE TOWNSEND!" Dante brightened, ducking mere moments before Vergil's backhand would have impacted with his head.

The older of the Sparda brothers took a long, deep centering breath and let it out. "So. The way it seems, is that we've got two fronts to deal with. One, reclaiming Santa's workshop, and two, rescuing Santa himself. Is that an appropriate summary?"

The elves applauded. "That's absolutely correct, Mister Vergil." Bjorn said, tucking the etch-a-sketch under his arm again. "We think it was very kind of the great Sparda to have two children, in expectation of our time of need."

Dante opened his mouth, and then closed it again, then shook his head. "Ok. Well, then. I guess.. I'll go rescue Santa, and Verg, you can clear out the workshop."

Vergil was about to protest this one-sided de facto decision, especially since he was older and should be the one making said one-sided proclamations, when surprisingly, the elves protested.

"Look, no offense or nothing' skinny britches, but we'd kinda like yer brother t' lead the charge on da workshop. You think you can rescue da fat man on yer own?"

Vergil smiled placidly, even when there was the distinct sound of Dante's jaw dropping in horror. "Oh, yes. I'd be happy to rescue Santa Claus."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Traitor" Dante nyahed the dark shape of his twin as Vergil headed out towards the demon's castle. Oh, there would be *hell* to pay later. There would be no schnoogles or breakfasts for his treacherous twin… Dante paused. Ok, maybe just no breakfast for his treacherous twin for at least a week. Or three days. Maybe he'd just skip pancakes tomorrow.

Dante sighed. He couldn't stay mad at Vergil. He could, however, stay mad at the elves. "Alright, glimmer twins." He folded his arms in a vergilesque fashion. "What's the sitch at the workshop?"

Bjorn noodled the dials on the etch-a-sketch and held up what appeared to be a picture of a house with a smiling sun overhead. "As you can see by the tactical diagram, the primary loading docks, front toy foyers and assembly lines 4 through 127 are completely overrun." He continued as Dante stared blankly at the toy. "we believe we can gain access through the peppermint sugar waste vents on sub-basement level 47."

Dante took a long moment of envisioning himself swimming through a river of molten peppermint candy and shook his head. "Look. Where's the front door?"

Bjorn looked at him as if he didn't entirely understand the question. "The.. Front door?"

"Yeah. The front door? If an approach through the front door was good enough for Mundus and that poncey fuck Arius, it's damn well good for this. Now. Where's the front door?" He unholstered Ebony and Ivory and ratcheted off the safeties. "Let's rock and roll."

The elves shrugged. "Look, kid." Agnetha chewed on his cigar. "Dere's nothing' like da Whu.. You go in dere and dem things gonna get all holly jolly on dat underfed ass a'yers."

"I've faced the worst scum the bowels of hell can upchuck, shorty. Bring it on."

A half an hour later, trudging through the swirling snow, Dante and a group of apprehensive elves armed with candy-cane cudgels and Buck Rodgers Super Spark Action La-Zer Guns found them selves at the colorfully lit entrance to the massive Chateau du Santa.

"whoa. Nice spread." Dante muttered appreciatively before kicking the door in.

A lifetime of devil hunting could not have prepared him for what was waiting in the foyer, however.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
There was singing. Sweet, sprightly harmonies soaring with gusto through the corbelled ceilings of the workshop. The elves immediately clapped giant furry earmuffs on as Dante began to sway slightly in time with the acapella glory. He wandered into the foyer, following the sound and saw more garishly dressed elves, their hands interlinked with strange, pink, pointy-headed creatures that could only have been the Whu.

The little creatures lifted up their misshapen, globby faces and sang rapturously "Installez l'abat-jour en verre~ sur l'adaptateur et fixez! Le en place! En inserant! L'anneau de securite sur la douille!"

Dante paused and shook his head "… now, I failed French in high school, but, are they.. singing… installation instructions for a lamp?"

"PROBABLY!" Bjorn shouted. "THEY SING EVERYTHING!"

"Of course. How stupid of me." Dante sighed and unholstered his guns. "Showtime."

Meanwhile….

Vergil had been trudging through the snow for what seemed like an eternity, following a dim glow on the horizon and a strange, misplaced waft of patchouli on the crisp arctic air. The cold didn't bother him in the least. For the knight of thunder, the dark angel of the cold realms, a little snow was like a stroll through the park.

But it did very little to make the situation seem more plausible to Vergil's implacably rational forebrain. He was implausibly logical for a half-demon devil hunting dark mage, and as such, he was becoming increasingly annoyed as he trudged through the snow. Not only had their father indentured them to a vicious tribe of three-foot tall glam-rock refugees, all those years of convincing Dante that there was no Santa Claus were irretrievably down the proverbial crapper.

If there WAS indeed a Santa Claus, Vergil was going to have Words with him. Strong ones.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The demon's keep stood perilously perched on the summit of an awkward mountain. It didn't exactly strike Vergil as a lair of Ultimate Evil, however. The brisk arctic air carried the sound of vigorous bongo playing that someone was accompanying with a badly strummed sitar. The keep itself was painted in cheerful floral colours and warm light shone from the windows.

Nonetheless, fully aware of gingerbread houses and all that, Vergil steeled his nerves, girded his loins and marched up to the front door and paused, straightening his coat. Dante hadn't rubbed that far off on him.

And he knocked.

And he waited. And then he knocked again, to the muffled sounds of "dude! The cops are here! Hide the stash!" Vergil frowned. These were not the sounds one normally associated with demonic infestation. The door creaked open to reveal a pointy-headed, furry green beast with round dark glasses and a pair of cutoffs. "…dude! You ain't the cops! SPARDA!!! DUDE!!!!!" :and he crushed Vergil into massive, herbal-scented hug.

Not for the first time, Vergil cursed his resemblance to his father. No one ever mistook Dante for dad.

"Sh'not Shparda…. Ish hish keed…" came a blurry comment from further in, and the demon held Vergil at arm's length, peering with bloodshot eyes over the rim of the glasses.

"Dude. Shit, bro, you look jus' like your old man. Far out." The demon giggled. "Come on in, man. Jus' taken a batch a'brownies outta the oven." He gave Vergil a wink and a nudge "special brownies, dude."

"Uhm. That's … really nice. And you knew my father. That's.. lovely. But. Uhm. Well, I'm here because.."

The demon looked at him expectantly as he pulled on oven mitts.

Vergil scowled. "Uhm. You.. You wouldn't have happened to …" He scratched his head sheepishly. "uhm. Kidnapped Santa Claus by some chance, would you've?"

The demon started to laugh hysterically. "DUDE! You are totally Sparda's kid. Hey, Kris! The little uptight elf-dudes think you got kidnapped again!"

And Vergil blinked as a surprisingly buff fellow in red pajamas staggered into the kitchen, opened the fridge, consumed a jar of pickle and a quart of milk and then waved cheerfully.

Vergil blinked again. "…..SANTA?"

"Ho ho heeack!" Santa clomped himself in the chest. "Vergil. Have you been a good boy?" He winked broadly at the older Sparda twin.

Vergil opened and shut his mouth several times. "Uhm. You.. You're Santa? What about the.. Er.. 'bowl full of jelly'? and such..?"

"Isn't Atkins amazing?" he patted his stomach. "Grynchie wanted me to go macrobiotic but I just couldn't give up the reindeer steaks."

"Ah. Er.. Reindeer?"

"Yeah. I love em, even if they're a little…gamey." Santa waited a second, then cracked himself up. "BWAHAH! I kill me. So. I mean, really." Santa Claus scratched through his beard and shook his head. "So, Vergil, the elves DID send you?"

Vergil blinked again. "Yessir. Uhm. My brother.. He's..leading the charge to rescue your workshop from the… who?"

"Dude, I totally dig Keith Richards." The grynch said around a mouthful of brownie as he offered the plate to Vergil. "You wanna brownie, Sparda-Junior?"

"Keith Richards is with the Stones, Grynchie. You're thinking of Keith Moon. He's dead." Santa waved him off. "Vergil, this is serious. You've… left your brother alone, with.. The elves?"

"………" Vergil took a bite of brownie. "yes?" He was trying very hard to regain his footing.

"Dear god. We've got to save him before it's too late!" Santa sobered dramatically. "To the Sleigh!"

The Grynch stuffed the brownies in a paper sack and belched.

"Wait. What?" Vergil stuffed the remainder of the brownie in his mouth, trying very hard to not be confused.

~~~~~

The "Sleigh" as Santa had charitably called it was a primer grey 1974 low rider El Camino on CAT treads. Vergil was unsure of why he was surprised by that at this stage.

Crammed on the bench seat between Santa and the Grynch, the latter's pet beagle parked on his lap, he tried very hard to remember why exactly he hadn't gone into some nice quiet profession. Like lion taming or divorce law. "See, those Elves.. They got a fat fetish." Santa shouted over the roar of the turbo-charged engine. "I gotta get away from the little bastards a coupla times a year, or else I'd've had a heart attack by now. Grynchie hired out the Whu as a consultant team to teach them a little stress management, so they don't keep tryin' to fatten me up like a goose for foie gras, y'know?"

"I could totally go for some foie gras. Or kebabs. Hey, can we stop for kebabs?" The Grynch asked. "maybe with marmite. Do you think they make foie gras kebabs? Cuz, I mean, that'd be…"

Vergil's stomach did a half-twist. "Ok. Uhm. I can appreciate your situation, Santa. But.. What has this got to do with Dante?"

"See, 'bout 100 years ago, Grynchie and I took off for a Detox weekend in Scily, and they tried to plump up my temp, La Befana, you know, the Christmas Witch in Italy? Mama Mia, she's-a-one-a-spicy meatballa" Santa took his hands off the wheel to make the international hand gesture for "huge tracts of land" and they swerved wildly across the snowy plain. "So anyways, she knew your dad, and she got so fed up with the Elves, she hired him to come find me. We made up the whole "kidnapped by demons" story so they wouldn't get their spangly kickers in a twist."

"Gee. Thanks. I still don't…" Vergil paused. "Oh.. You don't mean….?"

"That's right." Santa said gravely as he narrowly missed a bunny rabbit. "It's feeding time."

~~~~~

Inside Santa's Workshop, it was not a pretty sight. The Whu were leading the elves a rousing chorus of the French installation instructions for Norton Anti-Virus, while the members of NAPPIE were up to more nefarious things.

"See, ain't nothing' personal, kid." Agnetha prodded Dante. "But we figger, ya know, Santa's lost ta us, and you, I think you got the right requirementations t'be the fat man's replacement. But yer jes a little skinny side, ya know?"

Bjorn nodded "Indeed. Calculations indicated that this vat of marshmallow and lard should optimally increase your bulk to acceptable proportions." He held up the etch-a-sketch again, that had a crude, yet convincing, portrait of Stalin.

Dante, for his part, was deeply unhappy. Hanging upside down over a vat of congealed sugar and fat, and stripped down to his festive "Rudolf" holiday underpants, he couldn't quite understand how a horde of crazed, tiny circus rejects had managed to overcome him so quickly.

But he knew, in it's purest form that..

"THIS SUCKS!" He roared. "I swear to god, I'm going fucking beat every single one of you little monsters to death with your own candy canes!"

The Elves return commentary was cut short as they all became aware of… silence. The incessant, cheerful French had stopped and the workshop was eerily silent except for the blurbling of the vat that Dante dangled over.

"What the?" Agnetha turned as the door burst open with dramatic force.

"Put my brother down, Agnetha. Step away from the lard, and nobody gets hurt." Vergil pointed Yamato for extra emphasis. Santa and the Grynch behind him would've looked more threatening if they hadn't eaten the rest of the brownies in the car.

"Sorry, but this is somethin' we just gotta do." Agnetha pulled the brightly coloured lever that slowly lowered the hapless half-demon into the bubbling goop. "We'll always remember ya, Santa. Even if that nasty old demon's gotcha again..."

"Agnetha, you moron. I'm right here." Santa muttered.

It was just then that Vergil remembered the fruitcake. While Santa and the Elves argued, he pulled the ziploc out of his coat pocket and tore the top open with his teeth. Lobbing it into the vat, he could only yell "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" as he dove behind a stack of fire-retardant pajamas.

The resulting explosion would be sung about in the annals of Whu history for many corporate retreats to come.

In the smelly burnt fat-and-sugar silence afterwards, Vergil just shook his head and helped Dante down, minus any commentary about the festive underpants.

"Vergil.. What the hell is going on?" Dante asked as he retrieved Alastor and his guns, and less successfully, his clothes, deep-fried to a crisp in the burning tide of glop.

Vergil just shrugged, dropping his coat over his twin's shoulders. He looked around at the smouldering wreck of Santa's workshop, as the Grynch cried out:

"Merry Christmas To All, And To All, Some Kebabs!"

~~~

Next year, the twins thought as one, maybe they'd try their hand at Hanukkah.


End file.
